King's Fate
by mashkination
Summary: When the small council cannot refute rumors about the absence of the King, several Lords try to claim the Iron Throne. Castiel of House Tyrell is one of them. Sabriel, Destiel, slight Megstiel. Rated M for further chapters and major character(s) death(s). My first fanfic ever, so reviews are very much appreciated.
1. Sam (Enslaved)

**Sam**

The merciless southern sun has been already at its zenith, torturing slaves gathered in the courtyard. Sam was exhausted from all the walking and beating and now the terrible heat, but still managed to support his brother, who could barely stand on his own. Every man fallen was whipped up to their feet – some stood up and some never did. Dean's wound hadn't stopped bleeding and his right sleeve was dripping with blood. Sam feared that his brother would black out any moment.

Finally, the Merchant of Qarth they've been waiting on appeared from the golden arced gates before them. He was so short, any man of the Guard or the slave trader's army could've crashed him with one arm disabled. Nonetheless, everyone bowed to him. The slaves fell down to their knees and touched the ground with their foreheads. Sam helped his brother down and did the same, bitter at the fact he wouldn't be able to see what's going on.

- What is this?! – a highly irritated voice demanded.

- New slaves for Your Grace to choose from. – Sam heard slave trader's hoarse voice.

- I'm a merchant, not a King, you moron. Whose idea was to keep them here, in the sun, without any water? They bleed, they stink.. ugh.. like Seven Hells, and most of them are nearly dead. What is my so-called Grace supposed to choose from?

- I'll whip them up to their feet again if My Lord wants to check their strength. – slave trader's voice sounded a little scared. That's something new. Sam had never heard of anyone that slave traders were afraid of.

- You're new, aren't you? – the Merchant was audibly disgusted.

- Yes, M'Lord.

- I'm not a Lord either, by the way. Now you listen to me, scum of the Free Cities. You're an embarrassment to the art of Trade. Any merchant knows they should keep their goods presentable. I'd never leave my sweets and silks rot in the sun. You understand me? Show up at my door with such filthy stack of meat one more time and I'll have your limbs fed to the hounds.

During this unusual scolding Sam noticed that the Merchant didn't have a southern accent. He could swear that the guy wasn't from the Seven Kingdoms either. Curious.

- Max, buy all living men from this moron. Half the price and his life will be enough. Have them cleaned and fed properly.

Sam heard the slave trader gruff uneasily, but there was no word of complaint.

- Oh, interesting. – the Merchant's voice rand just above Sam's head. – Where did you get these two?

- In Vaes Dothrak, as all of them, M'Lord.

- You lie. – was the answer, and Sam heard a snap of fingers and then a cry of pain coming from the slave trader. – Try again.

- I… I don't know, my boys brought them! I swear, M'Lord!

- Hey, big fella, stand up.

Sam knew that was about him. He stood up carefully, making sure to keep his eyes off the Merchant's face (a slave looking straight at his master would be put to death immediately). The most powerful man in Qarth was at least a head shorter than Sam, quite plump, and wrapped in the purple and golden silks from head to toe. From the first glance Sam knew it will be hard to determine the Merchant's provenance. His skin was fair, indicating the northern origin, and his hair black, cut short. He was wearing his beard in a very unique fashion, which Sam has never seen before.

- Where did you come from? Is there blood of giants flowing through your veins?

After half a second of contemplating Sam decided he'd be telling the truth, as he noticed that the slave trader had an arrow put though his forearm.

- I'm from the Riverlands, My Lord. It's across the sea, right near the…

- I know where the Riverlands are, - the Merchant interrupted. – I think you are not just from the Riverlands, but from Riverrun. Tell me, am I right? Are you of noble birth? And look me in the eye while talking!

Sam met his owner's gaze, wondering how this man's guesses can be so accurate. He then was stunned by how eyes didn't match the overall impression of the man before him. Those were eyes of a wise man, calm and deep, sparking with curiosity, not dull watery eyes of a common merchant.

- I… I am of House Tully, My Lord.

- Is this man of House Tully also? – the Merchant gestured to Dean, who had made an effort to stand up, but failed.

- Yes, My Lord. Excuse my brother's manners, he's suffered a severe wound and I'm afraid it'd started to fest.

I see that. Well, you must have a fascinating story to tell… Max, take a good care of these two, and see to this one's wound. Then bring them to me.


	2. Meg (Not King's Whore)

**Meg**

It was very nice to wake up on the King's bed. Unnaturally, unbelievably nice. She ran her hand across the sheets, feeling the cool sleekness of them. She'd always wished to wake up like this, she'd wished it every cold night at a god-forsaken tavern lying on a hard filthy bench, left with a silver coin and a dozen bruises. She'd imagine the rich fool coming into her possession, all of his wealth becoming hers, all the servants bowing to her. But she'd never imagine the rich fool to be neither the King nor so pleasant.

Meg shook her head, chasing away the last pieces of dream. She was alone, even though the hour was an early one – the dawn just starting to light up the world behind the curtains. She jumped off the bed and ran to the window. Her rich fool was out in the garden as she'd expected. He was convinced that early strolling between the exotic trees and bushes of Highgarden would bring him peace of mind.

Meg threw her head back, enjoying first sun rays on her face. She'd always knew nothing would bring her King peace of mind while his Knight was missing. It almost made her sad. But alas, it wasn't like King's content was any of her problems and she'd got many, starting with the inevitable coming of the Queen-to-be. After all, she didn't even know what she was more jealous of – the new Queen marrying her rich fool of a King or taking away these silk-lined mornings.

The King's bride was scheduled to arrive this morning, so Meg had to hurry up if she wanted to see her coming. She'd heard many rumors about Naomi of House Baratheon, and all of them stated one thing – there wasn't a man in Seven Kingdoms as ambitious and ruthless as this Lady. Even without this information Meg was sure Naomi is a bitch. 'Cause all women are bitches, that Meg had learned long ago. And all men are filthy boars, having only lust and blood on their minds. Well, there was one rare exception to this rule.

She chose the most modest gown of hers, and put her hair in a crown around her head – a fashion that House Baratheon was known for. It was important to make a good impression on the Queen bitch. She came down to the gardens then. Castiel was still there.

- How are you feeling today, Your Grace? – she asked, after a low curtsy for her King.

- Much better, actually. Thank you, Megan. I've always told you – your true talents are for healing, not … - Castiel stopped, trying to put his thoughts into nice words. He'd always hated blunt speech. - … offering your body.

- You are very kind, Your Grace. – Meg smiled. – I'd never known that if it wasn't for your goodness. Speaking of my talents and your well-being. It's time for your morning massage, Your Grace. Your Lady is coming this morning, you must be in a good health to welcome her properly.

- Ah yes, my Lady… I've almost forgotten.

Castiel followed Meg like a lost puppy, looking around with his tired sad eyes like he'd wished to never leave the garden. Meg felt sorry for him. She'd seen this look many times in her short life – the girls that hit the bottom suddenly, unprepared for such destiny, had the same look every time before the job. They'd never stayed in the whorehouse for long…

"You lecture me about offering my body for a silver coin," – she thought with a lopsided smile, - "while offering your whole life to some obscure purpose."

- You should stop worrying so much, Your Grace. – Meg noted, while rubbing scented oil with hot spices along the King's spine. – Your worries climb down your back and give you aches.

- It's a nice advice, dear. – the King winced. – But it doesn't seem possible in the current circumstances.

- I know it's hard, Your Grace. We all are agitated towards the upcoming battle, but after the fighting is done we need a strong King to rule. – she concentrated on the King's neck to make sure his head will have a good blood supply all day. Her soft gentle fingers very circling up and down, reaching collarbone, sliding alongside it.

- You talk like my uncle. If it wasn't for your service I wouldn't be able to stand, let alone fight. – Castiel murmured, indulging into Meg's caressing.

- Aye, Your Grace. That's why I'm telling you – quit worrying. Your Meg won't always be here to take care of you.

- Why? – the King shifted anxiously, trying to turn his head and look at Meg. – Are you unhappy here?

- No, Your Grace, I could never be happier. – she smiled, patting him gently as a reminder not to move. – But your wife… I don't think she'll be too happy to have a whore looking after her husband.

- You're not a whore, quit using that word. I won't let anyone take you away, that I can promise you as a King. – Castiel closed his eyes, reassured.


	3. Sam (Facing the New Master)

**Sam**

While they were washed and fed, Sam managed to discover some information about their new owner. His name was Crowley, and he was one of the Thirteen ruling the City of Qarth - the most powerful and dangerous man on the eastern coast. Nobody knew where he came from and how he earned his fortune, but rumors stated that his ways were dark and bloody.

After Dean had got some aid for his wound, brothers were brought to Crowley's parlor. It was huge, decorated with gold and silver and tons of rare rubies that were mostly dark, but if the light touched them in some way shone with millions of bloody red sparkles. Crowley sat in an enormous armchair, relaxed. Beside his chair laid a huge black hound. Sam had never seen a dog of such size. The hound was so big its head would be at the level of Sam's chest.

- Sit. – Crowley gestured to the bench in front of his chair. – Max, this will be all.

The stone faced Max bowed and left the parlor.

- By the way, don't think you can do anything stupid if we're alone. – Crowley said. – 'Cause we are not. My doggy is much more capable of taking care of the business than most of my guard. But he doesn't have a habit of spying on me.

Brothers glanced to the "doggy", that seemed to be sleeping. Sam decided that the hound had a direwolf blood in it, but what a direwolf was doing so far from the North?

- Now, I'm dying to hear your story. How did noble man from so far west happen to come here as slaves?

- There are still those who thrive by selling slaves to slave traders in the East, My Lord. – Sam answered evasively. – They should be eradicated like weeds in a garden, but sometimes they still can outnumber and overpower good men.

- And you are good men, I take it. So how did House Tully degrade to being King's retrievers for hunting

- To serve the true King in any way honors our family. – Dean spoke up sharply. – His commands are not ours to question.

Sam winced. That was neither the time nor the place to reveal their commitment to a certain King or a certain job. Sometimes his brother's devotion made him reckless.

- Oh look, the smaller one can also talk. Wonderful. You seem to be of different kind than your brother – a lot less interesting one. I guess you're a Knight, aren't you?

- Yes, my life and honor belong to Castiel of House Tyrell, first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. – Dean held his chin proudly up.

- Ah, yes. Honor, bravery and uncontrollable pigheadness. I thought so.

- Of course, risking one's own life instead of lives of others may seem like madness to you, my kind Lord.

Sam felt his heart dropping and he was ready to apologize for his brother, but Crowley just laughed.

- Freshly knighted, I take it. Delightful! Get yourself together, Sir. Having your head on a pike as a result of talking back to me like that will do no good for your precious King. By the way, Castiel Tyrell is not _technically_ a king yet, is he?

Dean's cheeks flushed.

- It's just a matter of a couple of days. The true King is taking the Iron Throne as we speak … My Lord.

- The true King, how sweet. – Crowley made a face. – Off with you, you're boring. – the Merchant pulled a satin rope beside his chair, probably ringing a bell somewhere to call a servant or a slave. Max appeared in no time. – Max, assure that Sir Pighead is in charge of something suitable for such a brave Tully… fish scaling will do nicely.

Sam could see his brother's sword hand twitch with rage, but Dean followed Max without a word. Sam wondered if he had a plan to fight Max somewhere on their way.

- Now, back to you. You seem like a more sensible fella. Do you serve Tyrells also?

- My House has sworn loyalty to King Castiel, My Lord.

- Tell me, how many men does Castiel have?

- Twenty thousand, My Lord. – Sam lied.

- Really? My information states than around twenty two thousands and after House Baratheon joining him, he'll have more than thirty. Why do you lie to me? Have you grown bored of having two arms?

- No, My Lord. The news about House Baratheon joining our forces is a surprise for me. – Sam lied more carefully.

You must've been away for quite a long time then. – Crowley frowned. – Anyways, just so happens, I tend not to root for any of the kings.


	4. Dean (Unusual Alliance)

**Dean**

Fish stink followed him everywhere, disgusting choking stink. Sometimes he wondered if it's really how his life was destined to end – in this steaming stinking dump, forsaken by all he once held dear.

His wound healed pretty quickly, so during the day Dean served his duty as a kitchen slave and at night he practiced with a mop handle – the closest thing to a sword he could find. He slept around two or four hours a day, but he couldn't bear a thought about losing his sword skills. There's so much he would do if he made a way out alive. If…

Dean had never been a man to make friends easily. Very soon he'd got a reputation of a dangerous and grumpy guy, that better not be bothered. But there was one person whose company Dean tolerated. The cook named Benny was originally from Westeros, and was the only one person in the kitchens that spoke a common tongue. Dean had never heard a story about how Benny had become a slave, but could feel in his gut that something was off. If not for this feeling he'd be much more opened to Benny, because honestly he liked the guy. Benny had the most even temper, had never gotten angry or frustrated, but had never let anyone to disrespect him. Most kitchen slaves and servants either respected or liked him, some feared. Benny was favored by their owner, because of his cooking skills. Legends about his stuffed fish dish had reached even Myr, and many wealthy men offered Crowley so much gold for Benny that he could buy a ship if sold the cook. It just happened Crowley didn't need any more ships, but loved a delicious meal.

Dean hadn't seen Sam since their conversation with Crowley, but Benny told him that his brother was all right, in much better circumstances. Dean knew it was because of his brother's skills. Benny said that Crowley kept Sam to translate ancient books and serve as an interpreter for him sometimes. Sam had always had a mind for languages and other sciences Dean found boring and unnecessary. Dean was no less smart, but had always preferred martial arts and learning tactics. Anyway, he was somewhat content about Sam's whereabouts. His little brother was safe and it was almost all that mattered.

What bothered Dean the most was the complete isolation from the news from Westeros. He didn't know if King Castiel was on the Iron Throne already of was killed somewhere in the battle. Even the thought about latter was unbearable. Dean was looking for any opportunity to break free, and after weeks of waiting the opportunity finally presented itself. Help came from the unexpected person – Benny.

He'd planned the escape for a long time already, but he needed a partner, because it was impossible to make it from the estate to the harbor alone. At the harbor there would be a ship waiting for them.

- How do you know that? – Dean asked suspiciously. It was impossible some ship would be waiting without any notice.

- There's a thing, brother: any pirate ship that came to this city would be happy to have me. – Benny smiled.

- What?! – Dean couldn't believe what he'd heard. – Wait, so you were sold because you were a pirate?!

- Not _a_ pirate, excuse you, Sir. _The _pirate. – Benny corrected proudly.

- For the love of Seven… You are Benjamin Greyjoy, the King in the Narrow Sea, aren't you? – Dean was completely stunned by the realization.

- Damn right. And let me tell you – it's time for me to reclaim that title. I've served the fat guy for too long.

Dean couldn't hide his conflicting feeling. He was disgusted by the thought he'd been buddies with the most shameless and dangerous pirate of two continents, that denied the King and even the Gods. On the other hand, Benny could be his key to freedom and the next chance might never come. Also he couldn't help it, but he grew to respect Benny a lot.

- What's the matter? Your Lordship is too honorable to work with the pirate? – Benny smiled gingerly.

- I'd fight you and bring the King your head if we've met another time. – Dean said grimly.

- Well, I'm not pressuring anybody. You're either in or you're out.

- What guarantee do I have that you won't leave me ashore after we're out of here or worse – sell me to another slaveholder?

- You have my word. Whether the word of Benjamin Greyjoy will do or not – is your decision.

Dean wasn't too ecstatic about all this, but had to admit to himself he would never get out by himself. It meant that he had to rely on the word of a pirate.

The day for their escape was coming in two days – some very rich guest was coming, the pompous feast was scheduled and all the guards would be quite drunk by midnight.

**So, um... Hi! :)**

**It's been four chapters.. What do you guys think? Please rewiev!**

**Much love! 3**


	5. Castiel (The King in Highgarden)

**Castiel **

The people of Highgarden had served their King not out of fear or duty but out of love. And they had a reason for it – there was not a one man that had met the King and hadn't been touched by his kindness.

Castiel had never considered himself kind. Kindness was poor man's privilege. Kind was a man who would give the very last piece of bread to the starving brother; kind was a woman who would take care of neighbor's child while having two of her own. Castiel could not be kind for he had everything he would want. He would never give up anything to give it to another. He was mere just. And he felt a constant obligation to do justice, because there was so little of it in the world. From the day he learned he was the luckiest boy in the Seven Kingdoms he felt that every child should feel that way, that no one should ever feel powerless or hungry or miserable.

So the day came and he was to become the King and then he would make everything _right_.

Castiel smiled bitterly. He thought so not a long time ago, but then he realized that to make everything right he first had to sentence thousands of innocent people to suffer and burn in the hell of war. What good then would his reign bring? He would've given up if not for three people. Castiel glanced out of the window. Meg, wonderful brilliant Meg, so gentle and good-natured but so very broken and fractured and transformed by this world. He would be the King for her, too bring justice to those like her. And then the Tullys. Those who believed in him, not in his so-called kindness or his wealth or power, but in _him_. Castiel was sure they were alive – somewhere. He would be the King for them too, because he would never be able to bear it if he disappointed them.

It was time to meet the Queen-to-be, Castiel thought. He moved away from the fireplace and felt a shot of pain right away. Back aches became stronger and more frequent after the Knight of Black and Silver went missing. Meg was right, worries contributed largely to King's ailment.

Moving slowly and smoothly Castiel reached the main entrance of the castle. The head part of the cortege had already arrived. After a few minutes Naomi of House Baratheon entered. She was not in the carriage as it was expected of a high born Lady. She rode the most exquisite stallion Castiel had ever seen. She seemed amazingly gracious and powerful and had the most beautiful smile, but Castiel felt right away that he would not like her. Her eyes were cold and sharp as valyrian steel and it could be seen that her servant feared her. Not a single person in her retinue would look up at her and everyone addressed her almost in a whisper.

**Thank you very much for reading and WOW! even subscribing! *omg, Kawabunga11 and Umi Minamino - you're awesome, my first subscribers ever!***

**I've changed chapter titles due to regulations...hopefully now they reflect the story a little better. **


	6. Sam (Meeting in the Library)

**First of all, thank you soooo much, my dear readers and reviewers and subscribers!**

**Thank you, **Kirstendonia **for the review! I appreciate it very much *hugs* and promise that next chapter I'll try to do Dean more justice. He's smart, he haven't had a chance to show it yet. Your review also made me go back and think about slight changes in Castiel's and Meg's chapters.**

**Sam**

There were some amazing books in Crowley's possession. Books about ancient art of potion making written in dead language, books on lost knowledge of changing one's appearance, books about extinct beasts of Westeros and Essos. Sam would never admit it, but he had never felt happier than while being a slave here. At last, he could put his mind and skills to something more interesting then endless fighting. The only thought that bothered him day and night was one about Dean's wellbeing. He knew that his brother was in no danger but he also knew that he would never stop trying to escape. Sam struggled to come up with a suitable plan to help him and felt terrible about it. He was smart enough to translate and interpret the most difficult scriptures but wasn't able to invent something for Dean. He was never a good help to start with, had let his brother down so many times. At times like these Sam even thought that maybe Dean was better off without him?

Crowley appeared to be the most interesting character. He'd never treated any of his slaves with an unnecessary cruelty; and ones that behaved nicely could even expect some pampering from him. But if someone had wronged him in any way – even in a slightest – Crowley's wrath was absolute and punishment was immediate.

Sam was a "good" slave; he behaved flawlessly and was incredibly useful in terms of translation and even advising. So he wasn't surprised when Crowley assigned him as a translator to one of the guests coming that week. This guest appeared to be the most important yet. Sam had heard rumors that the guy was the richest man in all the Seven Kingdoms.

The caravan arrived in the morning, before the heat became unbearable.

Sam had never seen more opulent procession. Horses were of purest breed, all harness and saddles were incrusted with jewels, riders wore best silks in Essos. Men were proud and strong, women were beautiful. At the head of the procession rode a tall, tanned man, with a perfect posture and a calm yet intent gaze of a well-skilled warrior. There was a red lion on his breastplate as well as on the banners flying above the riders. Lannisters. No wonder, Crowley had prepared everything so meticulously for this particular visitor.

While everybody bowed to the leader of the procession and Crowley took a step forward welcoming his guests, Sam was trying to figure out which one of Lannister brothers honored them with his visit. As far as he knew, Michael was in the North building an alliance with Starks. He had no business here, and his righteous nature wouldn't let him come for help to the slave-holder. Both Lucifer and Gabriel, if Sam remembered the genealogy of the Houses correctly, were of fair skin. Crowley's speech dispelled the uncertainty.

- Welcome to my humble dwelling, Sir Ezekiel. My people are happy to serve you.

- My master sends you many thanks, My Lord, your hospitality is truly a legend. – The tall man dismounted and bowed curtly to Crowley. – His Highness also apologizes that he's not able to be here right now. He's sent us forth because many people are weary of a long journey.

- And therefore I intent on keeping you waiting no more. Please come and let my people wash the dust and worries of the road away.

When Crowley left the courtyard, Sam came to him waiting for new orders.

- The youngest Lannister… - his master scowled. – I bet he doesn't want to leave some brothel.

"So we are expecting Gabriel", - Sam thought. Indeed, the youngest Lannister, who had left Westeros long before his brothers started a war, was known for his interest in pleasure houses, parties and feasts and lack of politeness. It was likely that he'd found something on the way that caught his attention.

- Get back to your work. – Crowley dismissed him. The Merchant was quite irritated by this situation, as always, when good business was suddenly put on hold.

Sam retired to the library, where the twenty third tome of "The Ancient Demonology in Essos" awaited for him. It was almost midday, the time when Ros, a cute little servant, would walk past the library and whisper a word or two to Sam about his brother. Ros wouldn't agree to carry a message for Dean, she was afraid, that brothers wanted to start a riot and she'd be involved too. It was really unfortunate, because Sam couldn't come up with another path of communication and time was running by very quickly.

Consumed by his heavy thoughts Sam had missed the stranger's appearance.

- Hey, good man, would you be kind enough to help me? – a cheerful high voice rang above Sam's head.

Sam quickly straightened up and turned to see who was speaking. At the further window of the library stood a short man in greenish attire. He wasn't a resident of Crowley's estate; Sam had never seen him before.

- Of course, My Lord.

- Ah, a library slave! – the man exclaimed, very surprised. The only things that gave away Sam's position were cuffs and collar and, of course, the stranger couldn't see them from the back. – This house just keeps amusing me.

Sam bowed, not sure what to make of it. Who was he talking to, anyway? Stranger's clothes were inconspicuous and simple, yet he was highborn, no doubt. And where were all the guards? The library was never left unattended. Something was not right.

- My, why would they keep such a huge fella among the books? Don't they need any out in the fields or at the citadel? – stranger's eyes sparked with curiosity and his eyebrows flew up as if they had life on their own.

- I'm lucky to possess some knowledge that my master finds useful, My Lord. If you need any advice or translation I'll be happy to assist you.

- Oh, I'm completely fine with languages on my own. Unfortunately, your Master doesn't like ladders for some reason, no? – the man sighed very theatrically. – And I need thaaaaaaaat one book. I understand you're a highly educated man, but now your physical height would be handy. – he made a face like a child who tries to trick his parents into giving him candy.

Sam bowed curtly and followed the stranger to get the book for him. It was hard not to smile at the thought of this comical man jumping, trying to reach the highest shelf.

The book, so needed by the stranger, turned up to be "The Tall Tales of the Seven Kingdoms". It was a badly written collection of ballads and songs about the High Families, some of which were dark and gloomy and some outrageously pornographic. This book, once popular among the common folk, was banned from Westeros a couple of decades ago, when Charles Lannister came to his reign. Yet, the short man was so happy to get it as if it was an ancient valued manuscript.

- Indeed fascinating stories in here! Some tales are more true than the best historical monographies. – he told Sam didactically. – Thank you for your help, good man.

The stranger went into some far back corner of the library to enjoy his book, and Sam got back to the Demonology, very much intrigued by the odd man.

**Well, that was the longest chapter so far. And the hardest one for me to write. I feel like everybody in this chapter is a bit illogical... **

**What do you think? Is story moving too slow? Please review! :)**


	7. Dean (In the Tavern)

**Thank you very much for being patient with me :)**

**Dean**

- Thank you for everything, brother. – Dean meant what he said with all his heart, standing on the old dock of a fishing village in the delta of Mander.

After those intense three weeks he had thousands of reasons to call the vicious pirate Benjamin Greyjoy his brother and only one of them truly mattered – he felt it.

- Farewell, brother. – Benny smiled warmly. – Your Gods be with you. Hope they'll be all right - the King and brother of yours. And bear in mind – if after all you decide to become a truly free man…

- I know, - Dean shook Benny's hand reassuringly. – And if you decide to amend your wrongful ways…

Benny nodded.

They both knew either would never happen. But they also knew that one would always be there for another and this knowledge gave a sense of comfort, a feeling that there was a place one could always run to and be welcomed and forgiven.

Not long after the grey ship had sailed off, Dean entered the tavern, where he'd hoped to find a horse and then be off to Highgarden. But just when he'd finished his ale and was ready to hit the road, suddenly he saw a familiar face.

- Meg? – he caught her by the elbow.

This woman indeed looked like Megan, only dressed much poorer, her hair tangled and a huge black and blue bruise spread out over her cheekbone. It seemed she was shocked to see him as well.

- Gods, Meg, what happened to you?

She smiled bitterly.

- Well, a lot, but probably still less than to you. Everybody thinks you're dead. And where's Sammy?

- Hey, only I can call him that. – Dean snapped rather automatically. – Bad news? Tell me everything!

- I work here, sugar. You can't just get me to sit and talk here with you.

- Say what? Well if you work here I can pay you by the hour, as any of the clients.

Meg cocked her chin up, visibly offended.

- I work here not like _that, _thank you very much. – she turned to walk away.

- Hey, hey, Meg, I'm sorry. – Dean jumped up reaching to stop her, feeling rather guilty. – But what were I to assume…

- Aye, that's the problem with you lot, you can't _assume_ anything other than that.

Now she looked hurt and Dean was very much worried.

- So this one's the present from one of the assumers? – he gestured awkwardly.

- You figured. – Meg sighed, sitting down. – See what do I have to endure? All thanks to the Bitch. Make sure to kill her first.

- What are you talking about?

- Naomi. – she lowered her voice to almost a whisper. – I swear if you don't kill her, you'll lose our King.

Dean felt cold fear rising inside him. He had always known that Baratheons were not to be trusted. But at the time this marriage was arranged he thought he'd never left King's side. And this mistake may cost too much.

- You're telling me she's a traitor?

- No, I'm telling you she's a bitch. She's a bitch that makes everybody else her bitches. She's got the King by the collar and all the army is hers now.

And her army is marching in two days.

- Well, all that is not a crime. She's a Queen what did you expect? – Dean calmed down. Apparently, there was only rivalry between women.

- You think I'm only angry and pitiful because she threw me out? Because now every other filthy fisherman demands me? – Meg's features twitched. – Well that too, but. – she lowered her head and her voice even more. – I heard something before they got rid of me. She discussed the King with somebody. Said he was weak, but not weak enough to be ruled for long. She only needs a victory and an heir. You understand? _She only needs an heir to become Queen Regent_.

**What do you think? Is Meg just jelous, or is the Queen really a traitor? Is this chapter a little raw? Let me know, please.**

**Much love 3**


	8. Castiel (the Knight is back)

**I'm very excited for this chapter, because the King and his Knight finally meet. As you can guess I do ship Destiel, yet if you're looking for mature content please note - there will be none in this chapter. Sorry! Hope you still enjoy reading it.**

**Castiel**

The shadows were dancing on the ceiling, entangling and entwining, forming weird figures and then falling apart again. Castiel watched them fascinated by how much they reminded him of people's lives. He couldn't sleep again. Even though his new valet was indeed much more skilled in massages than Megan and pains were gone for longer than before, his massages now lacked that relaxing vibe Megan had given him and he became more and more sleep deprived. He thought about his former servant and her departure. He was a traitor; he betrayed Megan and her trust. If only he'd guessed the game Naomi was playing earlier. She tricked him very well, leaving him no choice but to give Megan up. It hurt and scared him. Megan would be all alone against the world again. Just like he was. How many tricks had Naomi planned, how many people would he lose? He had to be a King, to protect his people, yet he hadn't even managed to protect one person that mattered to him.

Suddenly, all the small shadows on the ceiling were covered by one huge shadow, as someone appeared in the balcony doorway. Castiel didn't even have time to be surprised, as he rolled down to the floor, silently, clutching his dagger. Another trick Naomi had pulled on him – being surrounded by Baratheon guard rather than his own. The dark figure moved right to the nightstand and Castiel braced himself getting ready to attack. The stranger checked the side of the bed where Castiel had always hidden his dagger at night. No doubt then - he was after the King. So Castiel attacked first, moving quickly as a lightning, hitting the stranger from the side, knocking him off his feet and then pressing the dagger to his throat to demand an answer what he's doing here. The King looked down and had almost dropped his weapon. Apparently, he knocked down his own Knight of Black and Silver.

- Dean? – he released his grip onto Knight's throat and put aside the dagger. – How?..

- Hello, Your Highness. – Dean smiled. – I'm very happy to see you in such good shape. But I'd rather appreciate if you'd get off me, because pushing thy King is a deathly offence.

- Of course, - Castiel stood up. – But even though I'm delighted to see you alive and well I can't help but wonder why would you sneak in like a thief.

- Well, firstly I _had to_ check if your guard was reliable. As you can see, it has failed to protect you.

- My Lady insisted that Baratheon guard was more potent because its commander is here. – Castiel said with accusation.

- She had a point there, yet I could've killed you.

- Well, good thing that the commander of my Kingsguard is back, right?

Both smiled. Yes, the commander of the Kingsguard was back and it meant the world to the King. The ground he stood on was solid again.

Dean was in a hurry to tell Castiel everything he had heard on the way. Mostly he retold gossip about the Queen that he heard among Tyrell and Tully armies. Everybody told the same – Naomi was really good at war strategy, her decisions seemed just and logical, yet some of her methods made her unpopular. She had lots of spies everywhere, had never listened to the low ranked soldiers and common people, saying that they have to put their needs aside for the time of war. Some said she'd even considered to buy an army of Unsullied. "It looks like she doesn't want loyal people", - one of the Tyrell officers told Dean. – "She wants slaves. The head of the Baratheon guard, you know, some say she had him castrated to ensure he stays focused on his duty." The other officer shook his head sadly. "Not long before she castrates the King as well." - he said. Dean also had to tell the King what Meg had heard as well.

All the information didn't surprise Castiel too much. He'd suspected something like this. Yet, they needed Naomi's army. He became even more bitter at the news about Meg's situation.

- I would give a lot to take Megan back. How many good people have to be sacrificed in this war in the name of peace?

- As much as needed to establish a strong system in the realm. – Dean said firmly. – Your Highness, I understand your doubts, but sometimes we have to give up everything we hold dear. I promise, as soon as the war is over we will find Megan and bring her back. She's strong; she will be all right till then.

Castiel looked hard at his Knight. Dean had always found words to kindle his hope and to give him strength to keep going. Even though most times Knight of Black and Silver had his own troubles. This time he had to give up his own family, to leave his brother enslaved just to be here, to give his King support.

- And I promise Sam doesn't have to wait for long now. I'll send an expedition first thing in the morning.

- Thank you, Your Highness. – Dean bowed curtly, being polite, but Castiel could read in his eyes just how grateful he was.

The dawn had brought coolness, and the air in King's chambers was so clear everything seemed a little surreal.

Sudden realization struck Castiel as he looked at the man sitting by him. Knight of Black and Silver was the only one person left in his life that mattered. To say honestly, he'd always been the one that mattered the most. Now this feeling grew stronger as the King understood painfully clear that in fire of war he'd probable have to give him up too. They were to face the battlefield in two days after all. For a moment Castiel wished his Knight would've stayed enslaved far over the sea for a little longer – just till the war was over.

- Rest well, Your Highness, - Dean stood up. – I apologize for taking so much of your time.

Castiel felt as sluggish, liquid ice cold fear was awakening somewhere inside him and getting a grip onto his heart. He was very winded-up after this sleepless night full of emotions - heavy thoughts about how he'd lost Megan, then rush of the fight and joy of learning his best friend is alive and back, and then the thought about losing him again. He wouldn't lose anyone anymore. He couldn't lose Dean now.

- Please stay, Sir.

Dean looked surprised.

- You've come a long way, and I understand you must be tired. I, on the other hand will not be able to fall asleep once the dawn has lit the sky up. You've guarded me so many times before and, may Gods be good, you will so many times in the future. Let me once guard your sleep, as a King must protect every single one of his people.

- You're too generous, Your Highness. – Dean looked a little offended for some reason. – But if the head of the Kingsguard needs protection then the Queen is perfectly right and you're more secure with Baratheon soldiers around.

- Everybody needs protection sometimes. – Castiel tilted his head and looked Dean in the eye trying to understand what's troubling him.

- True, and you need it all the time. And I've… I've failed to be at your side. This will never happen again. But I'm not worthy of your generosity or kindness. – the Knight moved to the door. – Please try to get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a long day and we all need you to be strong.

The air was so clear and in the grey light of the morning Castiel could see every freckle on his friend's weather-beaten face. "You all need me to be strong."

- And I need you. – he said simply.

**Please review! :)**


	9. Sam (Freedom)

**Hugs to all :) **

**Sam **

The second time he saw the odd man from the library was at Crowley's cabinet for important meetings. This time he appeared in much more expensive garment – lustrous emerald robes with finest golden embellishments. But not only the clothes were different – his features somehow altered too. Nothing comical was there anymore. He was the proud heir of Lannister name – Gabriel Lannister, the youngest prince. It was a strange feeling – one day the funny guy was happy to get the "Tall Tales" and the next day the same man discussed business with Crowley and demanded only the best halva there was. Also, Gabriel was very convincing in his complete ignorance in terms of High Valyrian. This Lannister was playing some game and Sam was quite sure it was not an ordinary one.

Gabriel was trying to buy ingredients for wildfire along with the only alchemist in the City that possessed the knowledge of how to make it. The Elders would've never sold something important for the City's defense, but Crowley held a different opinion in this case.

- My brother will be here soon, believe it or not, he hasn't given up. And he won't try to buy it, he'll try to take it or destroy it along with the City. – Gabriel told him. – It's better for you all if he doesn't have any interest here.

- And you want to get the wildfire to oppose your brother, I take it? Excuse me, my Lord, but what good will it do us, getting in the middle of war?

- First of all, no, I do not intent to oppose my brother. I'm not that stupid. I just try to prevent him from getting all the weapons . Second, the sooner you will satisfy my request, the sooner I'll be off, carrying the danger away from the City.

They went on and on negotiating prices and opportunities. Crowley was milking the rich Lannister remorselessly and Sam felt sorry for the guy. Lannister was good at chuffing; only Crowley was better.

The next day after everything was decided, Gabriel took Sam with him on a trip to the alchemy lab. Lannister preferred to supervise everything to make sure he'd taken every last jar of wildfire.

- Nobody can be trusted, especially slaves. – he told Sam on the way. – I really can't afford to be fooled this time. One of my brothers comes from the North with wolves and the other is flying on the back of the dragon from the South. I'm not looking forward to this reunion. Speaking of siblings. You are the brother of the Knight of Black and Silver, serving Castiel Tyrell, aren't you?

Sam was surprised that this topic was brought up. If Gabriel knew who he was, why didn't he say anything in the library? Why now, on the way to the labs?

- Yes, my Lord. Dean Tully is my elder brother. He escaped a couple days ago causing lots of disturbance.

- Fascinating. How did you two got yourself enslaved in the first place? Wait. I don't really care.

Sam grew irritated by the short man. Gabriel was visibly bored, asked him lots of random questions about Riverrun and Quarth and never seemed to listen, interrupted all the time. Finally some charming native maiden that was passing by with a basket full of mangos occupied Gabriel's attention.

Sam was disappointed. He'd expected the youngest Lannister to be much more interesting character. This peacocking careless boy didn't remind the man from the library in a slightest. Sam even started to doubt his memory.

Next day the caravan was departing laden with jars of wildfire.

- Many thanks for your hospitality, Kind Master, and let your house prosper and all deals be done in your favor. – Gabriel bid his farewell.

- It's always a pleasure to be in service for you, Lord Gabriel.

- Oh, speaking of which. I've never had better translator then one at my command here. I wonder if there's a price?...

That was unexpected.

Crowley looked at Sam, visibly contemplating.

- This particular man possesses some priceless knowledge; therefore I'd be reluctant to name the price. – Crowley stated. – But I'd give him to you as a present to seal our fruitful deal and to show my respect for House Lannister.

And Sam was free just like that.

Free, because apparently Gabriel lived by the laws of Westeros, so didn't have slaves. Yet, now Sam should've been bound to the youngest Lannister by gratitude. The etiquette stated that now Sam was to swear his sword to Gabriel. On one hand, he wasn't too eager to do so, on the other, Gabriel's intentions were a mystery to be solved. Why did he free Sam in the first place? Judging by their encounter in the library, he didn't need any translators, even though he pretended to be ignorant while discussing business with Crowley. Did he want to get to Dean through Sam? But Gabriel hasn't been to Seven Kingdoms in years!

- My Lord, you've given me back my freedom so now my life and my sword are yours eternally.

- What's the point getting your freedom back if you swear it to me the next minute? I don't need your sword, I've got many of my own. And I have no desire to have a Tully in my army. You can go back to your King, and participate in the worthless war you have going on. Only remember - if someday we meet on the battlefield…Ezekiel will kill you. – Gabriel turned away, letting him know that conversation is over.

Sam had never been thrown back like that. He couldn't understand what was happening and it unsettled him.

- Why did you free me then? – he blurted out.

- So you can go back to Westeros. – Lannister turned to him. – The war shouldn't be brought here, it's my piece of the world. Just go away.

That made sense. Disposing of wildfire so Lucifer had no interest here, freeing Sam so Tullies and Tyrells wouldn't come either. Maybe Gabriel was a coward, but not a stupid one for sure.


	10. Dean (Best Morning)

**Merry belated Christmas, everyone! :D May all your wishes come true.**

**My first attempt to write erotic scene ever -_-. Hope it didn't go too bad and you will like this one. Please review :) Also, fixed some mistakes in the earlier chapters, thanks to wonderful readers 3**

**Warning:**** this chapter has homoerotic content! If you don't like such thing - please don't read it. **

**Dean**

He remembered how first saw his King. How would one ever forget?

_A frail-looking fourteen-year-old against the pack of poachers, he had defeated them before Dean could blink, armed only with the dagger. _

- _Your technique is amazing, my Lord. – Dean acknowledged with respect, shaking boy's hand. – I'm Dean Tully, son of John Tully, it is my duty to keep this part of our land safe for the travelers, at which I've failed tremendously. My deepest apologies._

- _Oh it's nothing, I'm sure you'd deal with them as successfully. – the boy smiled genuinely. – I'm Castiel Tyrell. Thank you for keeping the roads safe. I've wandered off, so it's entirely my fault these fellas have jumped me._

_Dean knew at the time that Castiel Tyrell was the only son of the Hand of the King, the boy that had destined to become one of the most important people of the Kingdoms. He heard that young Tyrell was as wonderfully skilled at combat as he was gentle and kind at heart. _

Dean had become one of the best warriors in both Westeros and Essos, and his best friend had become the man to claim the Iron Throne. Through the years Dean had always regarded Castiel with the same awe as on the first day they've met. He was sure that no one was more suitable to be the King to bring prosperity and peace to Westeros. Yet that morning Dean couldn't care less for the happiness of Westeros. His best friend was scared, drained, surrounded by ill-wishers. If it was the price for well-being of the Seven Kingdoms, then the Seven Kingdoms could go to hell.

- I'm here, Your Highness. We will sort everything out, whatever is troubling you. As we always did. – Dean wished he'd been better at comforting, but in Tully family discussing one's worries out loud had always been discouraged. – If you're not feeling well, the march can be hold off. It doesn't matter, there's still time.

- I didn't mean… We're marching on Tuesday, there's no need for the delay. - Castiel shook his head. – There are some things that cannot be sorted. I have a bad feeling about you. I'm scared for you. – the King looked at Dean squinting, as if he couldn't see him very well.

- All right, with all due respect, it's just the lack of sleep talking. Nothing can happen to _me_, I escaped from Quarth for Gods' sake! – Dean tried to remain cheerful.

- You keep coming back. For how longer you'll be lucky?

- What do you want me to do? Stand back?

- Exactly. Stay in Highgarden, see that my Queen doesn't plot something new.

- You know very well it's not going to happen. – he snapped, forgetting the etiquette. His friend was out of his mind. – My place is on the battlefield. And I'm most certainly not going to spy on a woman.

- What if I command it? – the King took a step forward, looking Dean in the eye.

Dean hated when his friend did that, because (though he wouldn't confess it even to himself) awe and respect weren't his only feelings.

_It was summer, right before his eighteen's nameday. Many guests came to Riverrun, for the first time on Dean's memory. John Tully wasn't keen on throwing parties, but this year was different. Probably he gave in to Sam's persuasions. The youngest Tully had insisted that it was plain rude to be such a closed-off household, and that official visits as well as banquets were to ensure their good relations with other Houses. Tyrells were, of course, on the guest list. Dean was excited to see his best friend, because the last time they've met was more than a year ago. As Castiel's father was the Hand of the King and couldn't leave King's Landing, young Tyrell had a lot to do, and by the age of nineteen was performing all the duties of the head of the House._

_When they'd met Dean couldn't believe his eyes. Castiel had grown and matured so much in a year, he wasn't a skinny fragile boy anymore. He was a tall, quite broad-shouldered man, with soft yet calm and confident features. His beige-and-blue elegant suit made him much justice._

- _Hey, Cas, what a change! – Dean grinned, welcoming his friend. – I bet you've got quite a number of bastards already._

- _Hello, Dean. Unfortunately, in these terms the year was wasted completely. – Castiel sighed jokingly. – Yet I have high hopes for local … attractions. You should give me a tip on where to start._

_Both laughed, and Dean felt like he was falling, falling, falling…_

_He loved women, he loved loving women, and women loved him. It didn't change after that nameday, he hadn't been hit with a dry spell, or turned to liking men, no. He just realized that there was no woman he'd wanted to keep. All these beauties, sweet and gentle blonds, spicy and experimental gingers, and, of course, clever and seductive brunettes, they were fantastic, they were fun, they made him want to conquer cities in their names. But not one of them made him want to just be somewhere near and quietly watch as she's cooking, or reading, or tending to the garden. And on his nameday Dean realized, panicking, that he could've just been there and watched Castiel for all his life._

_This, of course, was never said or even thought about._

- Considering this is an unthoughtful command, I chose to ignore it. – Dean did not take a step back.

- I will not change my mind. This is decided. This conversation is over. – Castiel turned away.

Dean felt an urge to grab his friend and shake the stubbornness out of him. Where did this stubbornness come from anyway?! He restrained himself as he was speaking to the King now, and just caught Castiel by the elbow.

- Cas, I'm talking to you as a friend, not as a Knight. You're tired, you're edgy, let's talk after breakfast. Don't rush your decisions. I'm worried about you too, you know, but let's keep a mind on what's wise.

- I _am_ keeping a mind on what's the wisest. You will help me to win, it's true. But consider this – after the victory I shall rule. And without you it shall be impossible. I had a significant amount of time to fully understand it. We've come a long way to put the realm in my hands, sacrificed a lot, and it will all be for nothing if the realm receives the incapable King. – Castiel said calmly, it was so natural for him. – I need you to function.

Dean felt his heart dropping. He had never ever let any hope seep through and was actually quite good at it. Alas, at that moment King's unexpected revelation broke the defenses he'd built for years, the single phrase brought all his desires to the surface, flung the gates of the most secret part of his soul open. He leaned forward, finding Castiel's lips with his own, knowing that probably his career as well as his life was going to end because of that. But for a moment he could imagine his feelings were requited, and his life or honor didn't matter. The moment passed.

- If I'm going to be imprisoned here on Your command, I prefer to be guilty of something. – Dean said, trying to keep his voice natural.

The King looked at him, a little surprised, still squinting, emotions hard to read. Dean waited for him to say something, but the only thing he could hear was his own heart racing.

- Agreed. – Castiel said finally, pulling Dean closer, running a hand through his hair and returning the kiss in a passionate manner. He held Dean tight, one hand on his left shoulder and one on the back of his head, his kisses strong and possessive.

Dean submitted to his King right away, getting lost in the sensation, his hands sliding over Castiel's shoulder blades, feeling his perfectly sculptured back muscles through the delicate silky night shirt. Amazingly, being in this man's arms felt right, every kiss made Dean want to be even closer, to surrender, to feel every inch of his skin, to touch and to savor him. His touches were light, his lips gently trailed along King's jawline then neck, stopped over the pulse point. Nothing compared to the moment when he could feel his friend's heart beating, beating _for him_. He tasted his way down to King's collarbone, taking a long lick along it, making Castiel shiver. Contrary, the King was demanding, pressing his body firmly against Dean, tugging his hair. Castiel's kisses were long and heated, his tongue parting Dean's lips, reaching into his mouth, sliding against his tongue, leaving the taste of herbs. King's fervor made Dean hard in seconds, his heart beating so fast he'd never known it could.

They've lost their clothes, and Castiel pushed Dean down onto the silky sheets of King's bed, their bodies entwined. Hot breath on his skin, strong hands all over him, sometimes barely touching and sending surges of desperate need through him, and sometimes gripping tightly, fingertips digging into his flesh, leaving marks, the unique smell of herbs, royal soap and spices, Castiel's smell, everything blended like in a dream, making Dean dizzy. He wanted to just dissolve, to melt, to disappear in the moment, to have all of this for longer; he'd never known he could feel so much affection towards somebody, he'd never known he could get completely drunk of somebody. He'd never known he could worship somebody's body like all gods, old and new; that simply interlocking gazes with somebody, seeing those wide-blown pupils, would make him burn and ache with want. All longing, all desire he'd suppressed through the years came flooding, drowning him. He loved Castiel, loved deeply, desperately, and was dying to express this love, if even giving only an inkling of the storm roaming inside him. He had no words though to help him, he could never say something so important, so emotional, and thus he used his body to give Castiel a sense of how he'd felt.

He devoted to bringing his King pleasure, and it was his heaven. He kissed his way down Castiel's chest, his lips brushing over the nipple, then parting, the tip of his tongue circling around it, his breath sweep over it, making in harden at once, drawing gasps from the King. At the same time his hand reached down, caressing Castiel's erection, lightly stroking at first then getting a hold, and moving more purposely, finding out what speed and pressure were right. He was delighted to discover that he was doing perfectly well, judging by King's quick breath and little moans. He moved to Castiel's other nipple, gently gliding his tongue across it, and then sucking and tugging on it, which sent jolts through King's body and made his moans louder. Dean thought that having this man in his arms, watching him shudder, _making_ him arc and groan, and lust for Dean's touch was everything he'd ask for. Dean's kisses got lower, he paid attention to King's abdomen, played around his navel, laid heated kisses onto his thigh, stroking his length, teasing. Castiel grasped the back of Dean's neck, then getting a hold onto his hair, ruffling it, humming in pleasure. Dean indulged in the sensation, every inch of his body tense, ran his palms along Castiel's inner thigh, and then took Castiel into his mouth, sliding lips around him, tasting him like the best dainty there was. Castiel reacted, muscles flexing, loud moan leaving him, trembling running through his body. Dean began to suck gently, swirling his tongue to add sensation, his gaze never leaving King's face. Castiel was gorgeous, eyes closed, long eyelashes flickering, cheeks flushed, parted lips swollen. And Dean was in full control of this breathtaking man, getting this beautiful body writhe in pleasure. It was intoxicating; Dean could barely wrap his head around what was happening. A couple of hours ago he would've never even thought about something like this, and would be outraged if somebody suggested such. He had always known that he would serve Castiel selflessly, die for him if needed, Castiel had always been the best friend he'd ever had, somebody to look up to, to respect, to protect. He thought he'd won the battle with his heart a long time ago, leaving no place in it for "inappropriate" feelings as he named them. How did it happen then? Dean would panic if he wasn't so overtaken by love and lust.

Castiel pulled on Dean's hair, bringing him back up and then rolled him over, so that now Dean was on his back and Castiel was on top him. Dean reached out, intending to cup King's face, but Castiel clutched his wrists, flinging his arms above his head and pushing them down into mattress. He looked possessive, bewildered, almost scary, but Dean hadn't have a chance to clearly see his face, because Castiel abruptly bit down on Dean's neck, almost breaking the skin, then rolling his tongue over the bite in a soothing manner, and Dean felt he was losing his mind.

Shadows on the ceiling were twisting and entangling like two figures beneath them, morning light grew stronger as Dean's best morning was coming to an end.

**So what do you think? Is Dean kinda too hopeless romantic here? **


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